


All You Need

by millipop



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 04:09:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4005367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millipop/pseuds/millipop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Whenever her resolve began to splinter like this, began to chip, she would tighten her arms around her drawn up legs, close her dry  eyes, and think about her reason for sitting here in this transfixed stupor.  She would think about yesterday, about last night; about runaway snitches and adoring claps, bored smirks and a hatred strewn face, blood on faces and flyaway hair, entertained eyes and soap filled mouths, and 'mudblood', and pleading eyes and dressing gowns, empty boys in empty corridors and a last goodbye."</p>
<p>Lily and James have a conversation about the events of the day before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All You Need

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of a story I began a long time ago in a fit of melancholy, so it’s about half me of two years ago, half of me now. I think it flows okay, but I have no beta reader to tell me to shove it. Oh well, enjoy. (Title and quotes from ‘All You Need’ by The Jezabels)

‘When skies were grey

You had a different point of view’

 

Of course it rained.

Why wouldn’t it? These sorts of days were always the ones with mild to moderate precipitation. These sorts of days wallowed in misery, covered themselves in cold tears, and painted the sky in greys and dark blues to match the mood of those who recognised it as _that sort of day_.

She didn’t really know how exactly to categorise them though. Did they only happen when she was sad? Or when she needed reflection? Maybe it was the universe’s way of crying for her? She had no clue, but there was no denying that these sorts of days always made themselves known. They might be ambiguous, that was for certain, but she supposed they needed some description all the same.

These were the sorts of days where she sat on a window seat, watching her breath fog up the rain splattered glass and thought about important, philosophical, deep and meaningful things, and did her very best to ignore all the goings on around her, especially from her own head.

(Or maybe that was just today.)

It was funny how _interesting_ the most mundane things became when she was trying to avoid her own thoughts. The drops sliding down the transparent pane became for her an imaginary race, drop against drop, tension heating up (for of course commentary was provided, courtesy of herself), as she secretly favoured one of them over the others, and it all came to a climax as they were swallowed up by the stream pouring from the stone windowsill down to the earth.

And when that got too much, she would watch silently the trees across the grounds waving and sweeping the air in the tumultuous wind, spraying up leaves and battling imaginary foes.

Or she would trace the colours in the stone brick with an errant hand, lightly dusting the rough surface with the tip of her finger, floating it along the lines she saw in the stonework, collapsing her arm in defeat when the path grew too high to follow.

She lost track of the time, and the sky turned a darker grey. The little light that fought its way through the distant clouds gave up, and her stomach growled and grumbled at her for not taking it to dinner. She ignored it however, for the thought of facing either of them at this point rather terrified her more than not eating.

Whenever her resolve began to splinter like this, began to chip, she would tighten her arms around her drawn up legs, close her dry  eyes, and think about her reason for sitting here in this transfixed stupor.  She would think about yesterday, about last night; about runaway snitches and adoring claps, bored smirks and a hatred strewn face, blood on faces and flyaway hair, entertained eyes and soap filled mouths, and _mudblood,_ and pleading eyes and dressing gowns, empty boys in empty corridors and a last goodbye.

Last night she had been strong. She’d whipped out the perfect words, and yes they had stung, but they had _needed_ to sting, for the message to get through, for him to understand, she just _couldn’t_ anymore, it wasn’t her, it was him, it was the reverse cliché, and if he didn’t fix it then how could he expect her to hold the two pieces of fraying fabric together if he didn’t take the bloody needle and sew?

But  then of course there was _him,_ stupid, messy haired, _him;_ she couldn’t be strong with him, not like she usually was, with his swollen ego and idiot friends and arrogant expectation that he understood everything about her because he described her eyes in flattering ways.

(No, she couldn’t be strong with him at all, because for once she felt bad for hating him.)

She sighed, knocking her head against the freezing glass and closing her eyes.

Oh, she couldn’t stand the lot of them, why did they have to use her as their battle piece? If she hadn’t been such an advocate for diplomacy, she would have taken both of them and shoved them in a broom cupboard by now, just so they could fight it out, no rules, no one in their way, no sneers from behind books or behind-the-back hexes.

But no doubt that would all end in at least one, if not two dead bodies, and she couldn’t have that on her conscience could she?

Her boring things to watch were starting to run out now. Stone brick patterns and pretend races were getting old fast, so she lifted her head from the pane and exhaled deeply onto the glass, then rubbed with the edge of sleeve, creating a peephole and looking out upon the world again watching the rain fall down and down and down.

In vain of vanquishing unwanted presences from her thoughts, she tried to think about what it would be like to be a raindrop. She sounded crazy even to herself, she knew, but she rationalised it by determining that only a psychic could know what she was thinking anyway.

She thought for a moment, watching drop after drop plummet down from the grey. It would be such a simple life, she concluded, though of course incredibly dull. And brief. Born in the clouds, propelled into the sky, falling, falling, glinting, and falling, until _plop_. You were dead.

A human life was so fucking complicated in comparison. Born. Baby. Toddler. Child. Teenager (and that was a whole complication within itself). Fall in love. Grow Up. Fall out of love. Work. Marry. Have children. Divorce. Dead.

(Or maybe it wasn’t so complicated.)

The thing _was_ , she thought, was that you were expected to go through all that and hold it all together. A raindrop had no such unrealistic expectation. It could live its life in a second and have no regrets. It didn’t have to make friends, and watch those friendships be sliced to shreds in moments. It didn’t have to be born into two worlds and belong in neither. A raindrop didn’t have other raindrops telling it that she didn’t belong in the sky.

Oh, Merlin. Was she comparing her life to a _raindrop_ now?

She heard soft footsteps approaching and willed them to pass her by. _Just until midnight. Then I’ll start again, then I’ll put this mess behind me, then I’ll live my life without him and I won’t give a Hippogriff’s arse about it._

‘Thinking about your date with the giant squid, Evans?’

The voice only half surprised Lily. She had been expecting it all day, for him to show up, tap her on the shoulder and throw those dreaded words in her face. Those four words that she knew would inevitably spew from the mouths of her close friends, but she wouldn’t, no, she _couldn’t_ stand from him.

What did surprise her however was that these current, introductory words were being cloaked by confidence, but she couldn’t decipher what was being hidden. Usually, she knew the exact meaning of what James Potter was saying. But now she wasn’t sure.

‘Don’t say it. Please don’t say it,’ she begged the window. Her voice cracked and she struggled to maintain the absence of her tears so far. She didn’t turn around.

This was met by a moment of silence. She could imagine his little petulant frown, his hand dancing through his hair.

‘You don’t want me to apologise?’

She spun around at this, tangled hair whipping, her eyebrows drawn together. She had given up on not crying now; salty drops were stinging her cheeks and the corners of her mouth. Wiping her hand across her nose, she sniffed in an effort to control the fluid escaping. She gazed up at the scrawny presence in front of her, his face still so full of arrogance and self-importance. He was blinking in confusion. ‘What?’

‘What what?’ He obviously meant to lighten the tension hovering between them, but Lily really was not in the mood for his poking jokes and mocking smirks.

‘What do you mean, apologise?’ She couldn’t believe he was doing this, using her absolute misery and the severing of her oldest friendship as a way to embarrass her yet again. Lily idly wondered where Potter’s usual three-man audience was. She sniffed back her tears again and looked at his stupid face through new ones welling in her eyes.

He seemed to falter under her tired scrutiny. She noticed suddenly that there were purple lines under his eyes that were not a usual fixture, and despite his air of nonchalance and egotism, his eyes lacked their usual hazel twinkle, their usual cheek and mischief.

(When she had started noticing the emotions in Potter’s eyes was a different mystery.)

‘I...I wanted to say that, well, that I’m sorry. For what happened yesterday. I-I’m sorry that I acted like a complete git. As usual.’ He grimaced, removing his hand from his hair and sliding his glasses up his nose. He seemed to be avoiding her eyes, staring down at his shoes as he rocked back and forth on his heels.

Lily’s eyes narrowed and she shook her head, speaking in a shaking, bitter voice that didn’t seem like hers. ‘Anything else?’

Potter glanced up at this, his eyebrows shooting north too. His eyes widened in panic, and he looked at loss for what to say.

‘I meant…are you going to say it now, or later? Because really, I’d rather you get it over with,’ Lily said coldly. She clenched her jaw. Did he really think ‘ _sorry’_ could _begin_ to cover what had happened? Pressing her lips together and running her hands through her hair, she tried to stop the sobs she knew were coming from exploding. She didn’t need this right now, she didn’t want this. She just wanted to cry in front of a window and watch raindrops race each other and do _anything_ except think about it.

There was a tiny bit of anger in his voice now, but not nearly as much as there was confusion and frustration. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Evans.’

She shook. Taking a deep breath (a wobbling one at that) she tried to calm herself. To say those poison words was to give them life, to acknowledge that they meant something, that they _mattered._ ‘I told you so.’

‘I…Evans,’ he stuttered, but Lily knew there was a truth in her words, for she now realised what his words were hiding beneath them.

(Guilt.)

She blinked a couple of times. He felt guilty. Her eyes cleared then, and she could have laughed at the utter ridiculousness of the situation, her sitting on a window seat trying not to cry her guts out and James Potter standing awkwardly in front of her, wanting to atone for his _guilt_.

They spoke at the same time.

‘You feel guilty.’

‘It’s my fault.’

Lily stared at him, incredulous. She didn’t think she had ever heard those words from his mouth in such a context. Taking the credit for a prank sure, or shielding his friends from the blame of something he did.

But not in this honest, self-loathing manner.

She was so surprised that she didn’t say anything for a few seconds, and James took the instance to speak.

‘Yes. I goaded him into it. I picked on him…’ he swallowed thickly. ‘Bullied him.’

He paused, chewing his lip and raising a hand, and Lily knew it was absently travelling to his hair. But much to her surprise yet again, he seemed to notice and instead pulled it back down and shoved it deep into his pocket.

‘Why?’ She threw the word at him, callous and abrupt, but she knew it was what she needed to know. Why _did_ these boys feel the need to claw at each other’s throats until a swipe knocked someone else out?

His momentarily hurt expression almost made her feel bad, but he quickly recovered, a grimace of remorse splintering his face.

‘We’ve always been adversaries: me and Sirius, Sni-Snape. It’s just escalated over the years.’ He shifted on his feet, agitatedly. ‘You know it wasn’t one-sided right? It’s no excuse, but he starts things too, provokes us…uses Dark Magic. He used it yesterday, Evans.’ Potter’s beseeching look made Lily look down to where her hands fiddled in her lap.

‘I know,’ she whispered.

Potter drew himself up, sighing. ‘But yesterday, before it all, he was minding his own business. I don’t have any reason - any good one - for why we started it.’

Lily looked up at him. ‘So what did start it?’

He gazed at his shoes, scuffing the floor. ‘Sirius was bored. We were antsy after the exam. I told you. No good reason.’

There is a silence, but it’s only a little bit awkward. Lily stared out the window, and Potter waited, patiently for once, for her reply.

‘I just…’ She shook her head, thinking. ‘I just wish you’d do it differently.’

‘Do what differently?’

‘Fight him differently. I know you’re going to do it anyways. Merlin knows nothing could stop you two from your catfights. And I hate that he’s gotten himself into this…mess. The Dark Arts. It ruined our friendship.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, you’re not.’ Potter looked affronted, but she pressed on. ‘But I understand. You hate the Dark Arts. It’s one of the things I admire about you.’ She finally looked up at him, and almost felt smug at his slightly stunned face. ‘You were never going to get along, ever since that day on the train…’ Lily smiled slightly, wistfully.

Potter leaned against the stone archway covering the window, knocking his head back onto the brickwork. ‘You remember that day?’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘It was the day I met two massive gits.’

‘We deserve that.’ Potter nodded his head.

‘Regardless. I’ve always been a point of…war between you and Severus. You both like me.’ She closed her eyes, imagining her companion’s expression, not bearing to look.

He cleared his throat. ‘Well…yeah. That’s another thing I have to apologise for.’

Lily kept her eyes shut, but raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh?’

‘I shouldn’t have asked you out that way. Remus told me. Blackmailing apparently isn’t very appealing.’

‘Remus is wise,’ Lily said, her voice cracking. She heard shuffling, and opened her eyes, looking at him tiredly. ‘Why don’t you fight him by denouncing him? Be the better person, stop the jinxes and hexes and the rot.’

A silence. ‘I’ll take that on board.’

Lily just looked at him, a bitter smile gracing her face. She threw her head back onto the stonework and sighed, too exhausted to come up with anything more.

‘Look, I didn’t want to interrupt you,’ Potter said. He looked down at his feet for the umpteenth time. ‘I just thought you deserved whatever apology I could scrounge up.’

‘I appreciate the effort,’ she replied, and she heard a snort. ‘No, really, Potter. Thanks. For caring at least.’

This time he can’t help but swing his hand up. She watched as he ruffled his hair bashfully, but it didn’t annoy Lily quite so much this time. ‘It’s the least I can do,’ he said quietly.

Another steady silence stretched over the hallway, and Potter turned to walk away.

‘Wait,’ Lily said, regretting her contempt. She lifted her legs down from the window seat, faced herself into the hallway and gripped the edge of the stonework. She watched as the tall figure stopped.

He swivelled back, eyebrows raised in question.

‘I found it funny.’ Potter’s perplexed eyebrow raise was enough to make her want to run away down the corridor.

‘What do you mean?’

‘When you hoisted him up by the ankle. Levicorpus.’

Potter frowned. ‘Why? I mean, I thought it was funny too,’ She glared at him, and he raised his arms in defeat. ‘But I’m his sworn enemy. What’s your excuse?’

Lily ducked her head, not wanting to look him in the eye. ‘He had just hit you with a curse. And it showed his underwear.’ Potter stared. ‘And it’s his spell.’

It took a few moments for him to fully understand her.

‘ _His_ spell?’ he spluttered.

Lily sighed, standing up and stretching her legs. She knew she looked awful, he eyes felt red and tired, and her hair was a bird’s nest of red tendrils.

‘He invented it.’ The boy in front of her shook his head.

‘No way.’

‘Yes way. I saw him do it.’

He still had his mouth opened, unbelieving. ‘So why is that funny?’

‘C’mon Potter, I thought you had a better sense of humorous irony. You humiliated him with his own spell.’ She rubbed her face. ‘It’s no wonder that he got so worked up.’

James gazed at her, still. ‘So it is my fault.’

Lily sighed. ‘No. It’s not,’ she looked at him a long while. ‘Well, not completely. It’s his mostly. And Yours. And mine, a little,’ she admitted. ‘I should have stopped him from becoming this mess, and that’s why you should say it.’

‘Say what?’ He looked at her carefully, clearly not understanding this turn of events.

A corner of Lily’s mouth lifted of its own accord. ‘I told you so.’

Without waiting for him, she started off down the corridor, ambling as she watched her shoes trace the stonework.

Gambolling footsteps chased after her own, until they fell into step, a steady, comforting rhythm that would have unnerved Lily any other day.

(But wasn’t this a different sort of day?)

‘Why would I tell you that?’ His voice is soft but angry. ‘I’m a git, but I’m not a complete tool, you know.’

Lily bit back a ‘ _could’ve fooled me’_ and instead stopped mid step, spinning on her heel.

‘Because it’s true. And relevant. You tried to warn me about my friendship with Severus. Many a time, actually,’ she felt herself getting worked up. ‘You have every right to say “I told you so” so why aren’t you saying it?’ Her words echoed down the hallway. She had been louder than she meant to.

‘I’m not going to say “I told you so”, Evans.’

‘Why not?’ She asked, frustrated.

‘Because I’m not thinking it.’

Lily rolled her eyes. ‘Of course you are. Everyone is.’

His eyes hardened. ‘Sit down, Evans.’ She glared at him, affronted at the tone. But she sat down anyway, on the nearest bench. ‘I’m going to tell you something.’

‘And what’s that?’

‘You are your own villain.’

‘What the fuck does that even mean?’ She’s kind of angry now, feeling tears well up behind her eyes again.

James sighed. ‘You’re freaking out about people telling you those four words. But no one is even thinking them. They’re too busy feeling sorry for you and blaming him.’ She looked up at his face, and his eyes are frank. Honest. ‘You’re the one telling yourself “I told you so”. You’re blaming yourself. And you shouldn’t. Blame him. Or me. But not you.’

Lily gazed at him. His eyes were intense, staring into hers with a ferocity she hadn’t seen before. The arrogance was still there, but it was muted somehow, like he was actively subduing it.

(For her.)

‘Oh, God,’ Lily put her head in her hands. ‘I’m an idiot.’

‘You’re not an idiot.’ James frowned. ‘Far from it, Lily.’

‘I am!’ Her voice rose as she spoke into her hands. ‘I am for believing he’d change. I am for giving him a billion second chances. I am for letting his prejudice over the four of you change my opinion. I’m just a fucking idiot.’

There is a pause before she breaks down, too exhausted to reign it in. The anger and sadness rose up in her like a furnace, and she burnt. All the fiery stubbornness left her, and she felt the incineration, the destruction, of everything she had once believed.

(It hurt.)

She hardly noticed the pair of awkward arms encircling her until a break in her crying. Her first thought was to shrug them off, but her second was to bury her head into James Potter’s chest.

For what seemed like hours, but in all honesty was probably five minutes, she sat in the embrace of her enemy. A thought rose up in her, a sick amusement at the fact he’d come here to give a mediocre apology and ended up with a pretty girl in his arms.

But it was chilling to admit to herself that this wasn’t strange, or it didn’t feel so anyway.

James’s arms were comforting and warm, and he gave her little squeezes of reassurance every now and then, as if he could read her mind as to what she needed.

It wasn’t anything like the cold, awkward, bony hugs she had exchanged with Severus over the years.

(Not that she was comparing)

James Potter, arrogant bullying toerag, gave really nice hugs.

It was enough to make her sick.

Finally she disentangled herself, sniffing and wiping at her eyes, drawing back.

She thought she saw, out of the corner of her eye, a strange expression on James’s face as she blew her nose into his hanky. Whether it had been one of contentment or realisation Lily didn’t know, but she didn’t want to think about it.

In the awkwardness, he offered to walk her back to the common room, and she found herself blindly accepting. But the walk itself wasn’t awkward. It was comforting, in a really strange way, as they walked slowly in a pleasant silence.

They reached the portrait hole all too soon, and Lily sighed at the thought of more pitying gazes and over-bearing friends.

She turned to James, and nodded her head. ‘Thanks. For the apology, and the insight, and the…’ She trailed off.

He smiled, in a way so that she knew that she didn’t owe him. ‘It’s no worries, Evans.’

Giving the password to the bemused Fat Lady, she looked over her shoulder as she climbed in.

‘You know this doesn’t mean we’re friends, right?’

‘I wouldn’t count on it.’

They reached the common room and with a slight nod, went their separate ways, him bouncing over to where his mates were holding a raucous game of Exploding Snap, and her to where her friends looked up, worried and relieved smiles on their faces.

She fielded the standard chorus of ‘ _are you alright?’_ with a dignity she didn’t know she had, before bunkering down on the comfiest lounge, staring out at the Gryffindors.

It was a long time before she realised she had been staring at one person for much longer than anyone else, and even longer before she noticed she had been addressing him by his given name in her head and not his last.

(But she didn’t care anymore.)

 

‘I’ll pull you out of your sunken dream

Hold you like a true friend’

**Author's Note:**

> So here we are, another attempt at breaking my non-writing streak. Gotta love exam breaks, right? One day I’ll write something that isn’t these two dorks. I swear.  
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed. :*


End file.
